


no strings, I swear

by ingberry, marguerite_26



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Choose Your Own Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingberry/pseuds/ingberry, https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After finishing his first year of college, Stiles goes to NYC to visit Scott, hoping for a wild night in the Big Apple. Instead, he gets Netflix, pizza and a run in with Scott's grumpy roommate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts), [sabriel75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabriel75/gifts), [theaeblackthorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaeblackthorn/gifts), [FreshBrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/gifts), [yue_ix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yue_ix/gifts), [verucasalt123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/gifts), [eldee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldee/gifts).



> Written as a thank you gift to all the pinch hitters of [Teen Wolf Fall Harvest](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/TW_FallHarvest): Round 2.
> 
> We decided to have a little fun with the ending... by letting you choose your own. ;)
> 
> Super big thanks to our beta, Emjayelle.

Stiles bounced in his seat, his body still thrumming from the exhaustion and leftover adrenaline from his exams. He couldn’t help but talk the ear off the cab driver the entire ride from Penn station to Scott's apartment. Spilling his heart to the driver let him work through some of his excess energy, he reasoned, and cab drivers had to endure worse things than some college kid rambling about how excited he was to see his best friend. 

New York cab drivers were like bartenders, right? You could tell them anything. 

"You're probably hoping I'm going to shut up soon."

"Nah, man," the driver said, flashing Stiles an easy smile in the rearview mirror. "I get all kinds: some want to talk politics, some want to tell me about their love life, some stay on the phone and never say a word to me. Whatever. It's all cool."

"Yeah? What's the weirdest shit you've seen?"

"Not a word of a lie, I gave George Clooney a ride once."

"Shit, you for real?"

"Absolutely, man. George fucking Clooney gets in my cab. You said Prince St., right?" The story paused while they took the next turn. "So Clooney gets in my cab, and the door's not shut for thirty seconds when he lets one rip."

Stiles barked a laugh, slapping his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. "No way."

"No shit, man. And so fucking loud I thought my eardrums would bleed. I was gonna crack a window but it was piss-pouring rain."

Stiles leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees while he listened. New York city, man. Anything could happen. 

"Best part?" The driver paused, making eye contact in the rear-view mirror, and Stiles knew immediately that this wasn't the first time he'd told this story. "It smelled like... chocolate chip cookies."

Not expecting that at all, a laugh burst from him. He clutched his sides, wheezing until he choked on his own spit. "You made my day, dude. Best story."

The driver grinned, beaming at Stiles' reaction as he slowed and pulled to the curb in front of a dirty red brick apartment building. 

Stiles opened his wallet, sighing. "I wish I could give you a better tip. You totally deserve it, but I'm all kinds of broke."

The driver shrugged like he wasn't that surprised -- Stiles' ratty hoodie and over-stuffed backpack screamed _student_. Stiles added an extra five to the meter total anyway, just because. It'd mean less snacks to munch on on the flight back to California tomorrow, but worth it for the toothy grin he got in return.

As he opened the door, he spotted Scott waiting for him on the curb with a smile as wide as the Brooklyn Bridge. 

"Hey, man!" 

Stiles was wrapped in a bear hug the second he was out of the car.

"You boys go fill your bellies with chocolate chip cookies now." The driver shouted, hanging his head out the window as he pulled away from the curb.

Stiles laughed so hard he thought he was going to throw up. 

"Do I even want to know?"

"Tell you after." He wrapped his arm around Scott's shoulder. "Let's see this fancy NYC apartment you've got."

Scott snorted and started walking toward a set of stone stairs. "How was the train from Boston?"

"Actually alright and pretty quick. I did that fourteen day thing, so it was cheap."

Once inside, the steps were narrow enough that they had to go up them single file. He looked up as Scott stopped to let someone squeeze passed. All Stiles saw was dark stubble and pale, pale eyes inches from his own. He flattened himself against the wall, and tried to keep his jaw from dropping as the guy's broad shoulder brushed against his chest. They kept eye contact for what felt like forever. He may have whimpered a little.

"Dude," Scott said, nudging him to get his attention -- which was focused entirely on a seriously delightful ass making its way down the stairs and out of the building.

Stiles looked back at Scott, shaking off his daze. "Fuck, I heart New York right now." 

"What? No." Scott's face scrunched up. "That's my roommate, bro." 

"Seriously?" 

"Yeah. You should see his sister. That girl could make Lydia Martin look--"

"Don't even finish that, man. Don't." He pushed Scott in the butt to get him to start climbing again. "There's no coming back from some things."

Scott grinned, stopped at a door and pulled out his keys. "I missed you." 

"Yeah." Stiles grinned back, not caring how sappy he looked. "Skype's not the same."

The door was sticking a bit, but Scott shouldered his way in. "So, your exams are done. I'm jealous."

"Anthro kicked my ass. But yeah." 

Scott dropped his keys on a chair, and Stiles was ninety percent sure he'd never remember where they were when he needed them. An ache bloomed in his chest for how much he'd missed Scott. 

"You'll be done in what, two weeks?"

"Eleven days," Scott said.

"That's cool." Then they would both be back in Beacon Hills for a summer of awesome.

Scott spun in a circle on the spot. "So this is it." He shrugged, like a tour with actual walking was beyond them. He pointed to each door down the short hallway. "First door is Laura's room. You won't meet her. She took off the other night and I’ve no idea where she went or when she'll be back. Derek's been pissy since and trust me, that guy has an epic sulk. That door is Derek's. And then my room. The kitchen is the sink, fridge and microwave behind me, and, uh." He looked around. "This is the living room."

Stiles nodded at the TV and ratty couch. "Cool." It wasn’t much different than his tiny student apartment in Boston, but that didn't have the street cred of being in NYC, so this was automatically a thousand times cooler. 

He rocked on his heels, nervous energy getting the better of him. Life had been so boring back in Beacon Hills, nothing ever happened. Being away at college was awesome but he'd been overwhelmed by his course load and making friends was never his thing. But being back with Scott and being in _New York City_ with Scott … it was bit unreal. 

"So, what are we doing? Hitting all the best clubs in New York or what? 

"Um?" Scott stared at the ceiling, scratching his neck. "I have an exam on Monday. And like… zero money. I've already had to ask my dad to cover my flight back home and there's nothing left of my dignity now."

Stiles watched Scott's cheeks redden and wanted to be mad… just a little mad, but he honestly couldn't. He just took a three hour train ride to visit Scott, and he couldn't deny he was broke and exhausted. He gave Scott a soft punch to the arm, and gave up his pipe dream of rubbing up against Selena Gomez on some crowded dance floor. "Pizza, beer and Netflix, then?"

Scott's face broke into a goofy smile. "You're the best."

"I keep telling everyone that."

* * *

Stiles wasn't the best, he realized after one bite of cheesy goodness from 'a little place around the corner' -- real New York pizza was the best. 

They spent more time catching up than watching the movies, and Stiles couldn't even regret the lack of strobe lights and scantily clad girls. Sometime in the middle of Planet of the Apes, Derek came back and grunted a hello at Scott's 'This is my best friend, Stiles.'

It was the sexiest grunt Stiles had ever heard -- though maybe he was a little biased because of the guy's stupidly attractive face. He ignored the pang of disappointment when Derek grabbed a beer, then hid in his room to drink it. Though it would have been extremely unfair and unfortunate if Derek was both unseemly hot _and_ a social butterfly.

Stiles was a little drunk and not even that hungry when he tripped into the kitchen and started rifling through the cupboards.

"Jackpot," he said, holding up a pack of microwave popcorn.

He punched the 'popcorn' button on the microwave as Scott called out to him, "Hey, how about Scarface next?"

Stiles couldn't even remember what happened in the end of the last movie so he shrugged a _whatever_ and, flopping down on the couch, took a sip of beer.

Scarface was at 45% loading when he smelled the smoke. 

"Oh shit!" He was off the couch and diving for the microwave when a large black blur came barrelling down the hall. 

Derek was suddenly _there_ and flying into the kitchen, his face pale with panic. He opened the microwave door and a billow of smoke clouded the tiny apartment. He tossed the blackened bag into the sink and turned on the faucet. The water seemed to just increased the spread of the smoke. 

"Sorry, dude." Stiles coughed, waving his hands to try to clear the air. "Totally mea culpa. Did I just kill your microwave?"

Derek didn't reply. He just opened the kitchen window and turned to walk out of the apartment; Stiles teeth rattled at the slamming of the door.

"Is he super attached to his microwave or something?" Stiles said, wrinkling his nose as he dumped the sopping, blackened popcorn bag into the trash. 

Scott shrugged. "I told you he was messed up. Just stay out of his way and don't use his shit."

The smoke was clearing through the open window. Stiles turned his attention back to the microwave and a heavy lump took shape in his stomach. Grabbing a rag from the counter, he started to scrub at the scorch marks covering the cheap white plastic. Nothing helped. He'd just cremated a totally hot dude's microwave. "Shit. Way to make a first impression, Stiles."

Scott patted his shoulder, took the rag out of his hand and replaced it with a fresh beer. "He probably won't be back until tomorrow. I'll smooth things over. Anyway, I'm leaving in eleven days and we'll never see him again. So, whatever."

They watched half of Scarface before they both started to nod off and agreed that they needed some sleep in an actual bed. 

At three AM, Stiles woke without the ability to swallow, and cursed the salty pizza. He rolled out of the bed he was sharing with Scott, regretting that he didn't think to bring a glass of water to put on Scott's nightstand. 

He was still a bit drunk; there was no grace in his stumble through the dark apartment. The minute his bare feet touched the icy tile of the kitchen floor, he froze and proceeded to do a full body shiver in his boxers. Diving for the still open window, he slammed it closed. The air was still stale and bitter but he didn’t feel like catching pneumonia while eating breakfast in the morning. 

A soft flicker from the living room caught his eye. He thought for a moment they'd left the TV on, but as he stepped closer, he found Derek on the couch. He was staring directly at Stiles.

"Hey, man."

The cotton of Derek's t-shirt was so threadbare and faded it looked impossibly soft. Stiles' fingers itched to touch -- there was definitely enough alcohol still in his system to encourage bad life choices. He should turn around and go to bed. 

He stood there, instead, letting his eyes drift to the TV. It was some old Sidney Poitier film, but Stiles couldn't remember the name. 

"I'm, uh, sorry about your microwave."

Derek's lips pursed. "'S fine." His eyes went back to the TV like he considered the issue closed. It was nearly muted, the sound of the movie so low Stiles had no idea how Derek could even hear it. He looked kind of broken, the glow of the TV on the hard planes of his cheeks making him appear unearthly. 

"I closed the window," Stiles said.

Derek's eyes found his again. "I hate the smell of smoke."

"I haven't got any money."

Derek shrugged, spreading his legs to slump lower on the couch. "Don't worry about it."

"I could... make it up to you?" His cheeks were burning. He was glad to be standing in a shadow so any bulge in his boxers wasn't noticeable.

"I think you watch too much porn if you think that was a good pick up line."

"I wasn't!" Stiles hands flew out, waving off the accusation. "That wasn't what I meant."

Derek looked at him, a lazy once-over down his body like the darkness hid nothing. "Yes it was."

"Okay. Yes. It was, I guess. But I do feel bad about the microwave. And you are basically the hottest guy I've seen. Ever." Alcohol always made him careless and horny. And absurdly straight forward.

Derek's eyebrows shot up.

"I'm leaving tomorrow and you'll never see me again." 

"Nice sales pitch."

"I'm just saying, I broke your microwave. That calls for a blowjob, at least."

Derek gaped at him, not saying anything for a long, mortifying moment. Stiles opened his mouth to try to salvage the conversation but there was absolutely nothing he could think of to make up for this train wreck. 

"You have a pretty mouth," Derek said at last, standing and stepping closer to Stiles. His shocked expression morphed into something slightly more cocky. "When there's no sound coming out of it."

Stiles tripped over himself to get closer. "What?"

"Are you always this ridiculous?" His eyes softened with amusement.

Stiles wanted to say: 'Yes, when hot guys are basically fucking me with their eyes.' But he bit that back because he was starting to think he might actually have a chance to suck this guy's cock, and he didn't want to fuck that up by sounding like he'd just hit puberty. Puberty and Stiles had long since parted ways (thank every available deity). 

Derek's thumb was on his bottom lip before he could make an even bigger fool of himself. He pressed down on it until Stiles' mouth fell open. 

Stiles’ tongue brushed over Derek’s thumb, tasting the salty skin. 

Instead of pulling back, Derek's eyes fluttered shut. "You really want to do this?" 

Stiles sucked the thumb between his lips, grazed it with his teeth, and looked Derek dead in eyes when he opened them again. "I want to. No strings attached."

Derek's face shuttered for a moment, before he gave Stiles a broken smile. "There are always strings," he whispered, voice hoarse.

"Not this time." Stiles grinned, guileless, needing to chase away whatever haunted Derek."Stay in bed tomorrow. I’m leaving for home early anyway, so this even comes without an awkward morning after."

Stiles wasn't sure why he was trying so hard to make this easy, except that this was a classic fantasy -- something that would break up the pattern of his life. Everyone needed moments like this to look back on. And giving a blowjob to a nearly nameless pretty face was bucket list material, if Stiles were ever to make a bucket list. 

"Let me do this." He put his hands on Derek's hips, letting his thumbs brush under the waistband of his jeans. "You might be impressed."

Derek's laugh was just a puff of air against Stiles' face. 

"Alright then," Derek said, and peeled his shirt off as an answer. His chest was an absolute wet dream; Stiles' hand hovered helplessly close to his pecks, a bit too in awe to touch. Popping the top button of his jeans, Derek dropped back down on the couch. With a smirk, he spread his legs obscenely wide and said, "Impress me."

Stiles' throat went suddenly dry. At the time, the couple of awkward handjobs in the stalls of the university bar on purple shirt day had made him feel experienced. Now that he'd made his brazen offer, it occurred to him he didn't have a single clue what he was doing.

Derek gave him a soft smile like he knew he'd just called Stiles' bluff and was going to let him off easy. It was such a far cry from the stone-faced asshole Stiles had met earlier that something warm tugged at his chest. Giving up this opportunity was out of the question. 

He knelt and Derek's hard muscled thighs brushed against him. 

Bravado, Stiles had always had it in spades. He dug deep to do what he did best: fake it.

He trailed his hands along Derek's legs, his thumbs following the seam all the way to Derek's zipper. Only then did he meet Derek's eyes. _Smoldering_ felt like an actual appropriate word for the look he got back.

Stiles didn't move for a moment, letting his fingers just rest on the bulge there, hoping it looked more like a tease than panicked hesitation. Derek's hips jerked a little as his thumbs brushed against it.

Derek's eyebrow raised like he expected Stiles to chicken out and walk away. "Well?" The red stains high on his cheeks belied his cocky tone. 

Stiles huffed, took the warm metal tab between his fingers and began to lower the zipper click by click. 

Derek's boxer briefs were a dark burgundy; they stretched over the thick outline of Derek's erection and together with the open jeans and perfect abs… the whole thing belonged in some artsy soft-porn gallery. Confidence surged in Stiles at the sight of it; someone that gorgeous was hard for him. 

Lifting his hips without waiting for Stiles to ask, Derek pushed his jeans and underwear down his thighs. Stiles had to help them along, his fingers shaking as he pulled them down until they pooled around Derek’s ankles.

"Oh my God." Stiles' breath caught as his hands touched the hot, hot skin of Derek's naked thighs. He stared at the hard cock in front of his face and didn't dare look up because his inexperience would be written all over his face. Derek would know. 

Instead he focused on going slow, staying calm, not pushing his own limits, listening for the right reactions -- sometimes he _did_ read porn mags for the articles. 

Licking the wrinkled foreskin at the tip of Derek's cock wasn't that different from, say, the feel of his own knuckle beneath his tongue. But the scent, that was all sex. And the sound, the little approving whine he got with the contact? Yeah, that was all sex too. 

He licked again, a broad swipe with the flat of his tongue. Derek's cock twitched in reaction, bouncing against Stiles' chin and leaving a sticky mark of precome. Hands were useful, Stiles decided, if he didn't want a moving target.

His fingers made a loose ring around the base, holding Derek's cock steady as he opened his mouth around the head. Derek's hand moved from his shoulder to his nape. Stiles took it as a silent encouragement and circled the tip with his tongue.

Above him, Derek hummed, a pleased sort of 'your mouth will do nicely' kind of sound. And that was a sound Stiles had waited all his life to hear, minus a few years of blissful innocence.

It was all the encouragement Stiles needed to sink down a little further. 

He worked the cock -- up and down -- not really daring to go too deep, and instead he let the shaft get sloppy wet, keeping a steady, smooth slide of the hand he had wrapped around the base. 

His jaw ached already. When he pulled off to catch his breath, he muttered, "Christ, you're pretty big."

Derek snorted softly, running his thumb through the spit gathered at Stiles' chin. "You're doing pretty good, though. For your first time."

Face burning, Stiles gasped. "Oh, it's on," he said, wounded pride stirring his resolve. He tightened his grip and went back to sucking Derek's cock with wholehearted devotion. 

Derek's hips jerked up and something in Stiles clicked. He wanted this to be so fucking good. There was nothing he wanted more than to make Derek just lose it. He needed Derek to fall apart under him.

Derek groaned, his fingers twisting in Stiles' hair. "God, yeah. Stop fucking thinking so hard." 

Stiles' eyes fell shut and he focused on enjoying the feeling of a dick in his mouth, loving the taste as he teased precome from the slit with the tip of his tongue. He moaned at the sting as Derek pulled on his hair a little too roughly when Stiles sucked hard.

He was aching from it, painfully hard in his boxers. He rocked helplessly against the side of the couch to get some friction. 

"You gonna come in your pants, _Stiles_?" Derek said his name like it was something foreign, some strange word his mouth was trying to get used to because he was going to be saying it a lot. Stiles moaned around his cock.

"Stiles, I'm--" 

A harsh tug had Stiles pulling off. 

Derek took himself in hand, jerking the last few strokes before coming into his balled up t-shirt. Stiles didn’t know if he was relieved or turned on or a little disappointed. Most likely all of the above, many times over. He wanted to know what it was like to have Derek’s come spilling over his tongue, but then, at the same time, he wouldn’t have known what to do with that. 

Derek collapsed back on the couch with a grunt, his face relaxed and blissed out, and Stiles came to the conclusion that this was fucking fantastic anyway. 

Stiles rolled his hips, rubbing his hard on against the couch. Maybe he shouldn't touch himself -- this was supposed to be an apology to Derek, after all. But Stiles had never been accused of being selfless. He leaned forward, pressed his cheek to Derek's thigh and shoved his hands down his underwear. His still spit-wet palm wrapped around his own cock and he tugged himself off with a few quick pulls of his hand. 

He was so far gone, he barely registered Derek's hand in his hair, petting him through it. 

Just as his body began to tense, the already come-stained shirt was shoved in front of his face. Stiles took it, and sitting back on his heels, he gave a last couple twists of his wrist and spilled himself onto Derek's well-worn tee. 

They stared at each other, maybe both a little shocked at what had just happened. The movie played on in the background, a nearly silent mumble to go along with the blue flickers that filled the room.

Stiles didn't wait for things to get awkward. No strings attached, he'd said. He didn't lean in for a kiss, though Derek was looking at him like maybe he wouldn't refuse. Stiles gracelessly stood up, fighting the ache in his knees and the quiver still running through his thighs. 

He made his way back to Scott's room, crawling into bed beside him. He lay awake listening for the sound of Derek heading to his room for the night, but sleep took him before any footstep came from the hallway.

* * *

What happens next? That's up to you:

Ending 1: [The phone call](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1054776/chapters/2111999)  
Ending 2: [The plane ride](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1054776/chapters/2112004)  
Ending 3: [The door opens](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1054776/chapters/2112005)


	2. The Phone Call

The next morning, Scott claimed first shower so Stiles had to fend for himself for breakfast. Poking through the cupboards turned up nothing tempting. He settled for instant coffee and a mini Mars bar that looked to be left over from Halloween hidden behind a dusty box of herbal tea. He sat at the kitchen table, blowing on his coffee and staring at Derek's door. 

It stayed shut -- which was perfectly fine with him. It'd be so much easier if they never saw each other again. 

Scott would be moving out soon. He'd already gotten another place to live in September 'that wasn't with Mr. Grumpy and his hot sister.' Stiles just had to accept that last night was the perfect one night stand: gorgeous partner, amazing orgasms, zero awkward entanglements. 

Stiles glared at the door; it remained closed. 

The sudden ringing of the phone had Stiles jumping at the broken silence. Coffee spilled over the rim and he cursed at the sting along his knuckles. It rang a second time and he started to look around for a landline. With Scott in the shower and Derek still hiding, Stiles reached for the receiver. 

"Hello?"

"Derek Hale?"

"Ah, no. Derek's, er, sleeping." Could he make this sound worse? "Can I take a message?"

The phone crackled a moment and he wondered if the line had gone dead. Then a familiar, long-suffering voice said, "Stiles?"

"Dad?" 

"Stiles, what are you even… I thought you were visiting Scott in New York." 

"I'm at Scott's!" Stiles blurted out. "Derek's his roommate."

"Oh, that's…"

"Yeah, weird," Stiles said, forcing out a laugh. There was no way his dad knew he'd just caught Stiles in a morning after. "Why are you calling anyway?" 

"I can't tell you that. But look. You'll need to get Hale on the phone. Wake him up if you have to."

"Oh." 'Wake him up' sort of news -- there were only two kinds. Since his dad wasn't saying, 'get out of that apartment immediately,' Stiles knew what sort of phone call this was.

He set the phone down. Heart beating too fast in his chest, he knocked on Derek's door. 

"Derek?" 

An annoyed grunt came through the closed door. Stiles inhaled then turned the handle and pushed the door open a crack. Derek was still in bed, his hair matted to one side as he frowned at Stiles like he had really been hoping to not see him again. 

"Look, sorry. This is hugely awkward but the phone's for you."

"Take a message," Derek muttered, burying himself back into his pillow. Stiles wanted nothing more than to crawl in there with him. The filthy t-shirt from last night was on the floor by the bed. Stiles quickly looked away from it.

"No can do, buddy," Stiles said, and he spotted a phone on Derek's nightstand. Tiptoeing into the room, he pulled off the receiver and set it by Derek's ear. "It's not the kind of phone call that just goes away."

Giving Derek a pat on the shoulder, he hopped his way through the clothes strewn on the floor. 

As he made his way back to the kitchen, he could hear the voices coming from the second extension that was still off the hook. He lifted it only to hang up. He tried not to listen, but curiosity got the better of him. 

His father's voice was grim and professional as he said, "The driver's license we found on the corpse was for a Laura Hale. We're going to need you to come identify the body."

Stiles hung up the line, not wanting to hear Derek's reaction.

A few moments later Stiles phone vibrated in his pocket. He wasn't the least bit surprised to see 'Dad' lit up on screen. "Hello?"

"Look, Stiles," his dad said, "I don't know how well you know Scott's roommate, but he's just had some bad news. I know your flight leaves later this morning. Hale's going to try to get booked on that same one."

"Um…"

"Just look out for him, okay?"

No strings, he thought to himself and sighed. "Yeah, Dad. Sure, I can do that."

Didn't like that ending? choose another:  
Ending 2: [The plane ride](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1054776/chapters/2112004)  
Ending 3: [The door opens](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1054776/chapters/2112005)


	3. The Plane Ride

The only good thing about Scott making him late to the airport was that Stiles didn’t have much time to think about the bedroom door that had remained stubbornly closed. Not that he minded, as such. No strings. That’s what they’d said, and he meant it. Stiles just had to accept that last night was the perfect one night stand: gorgeous partner, amazing orgasms, zero awkward entanglements. 

So maybe Stiles had a _little_ time to think about it, but not too much. It distracted him through security to the point where he missed a question twice and they frisked him for good measure. But that was no big deal.

It was fine.

The last call for his flight came over the speakers and he cursed, sprinting down the length of the terminal towards the gate. The numbers of the gates blurred as he hurtled past them, his things bouncing in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Please say you’re not closed,” he said through heavy breaths when he stopped in front of the counter at the gate.

He put a hand at his waist and hunched forwards a little, trying not to shrink under the very judgmental gaze of the airport employee.

“One moment,” she said and put the walkie talkie up to her lips.

She turned away from him as she talked and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His dad was going to kill him if he missed this flight, because lord knows Stiles wasn’t the one with the money for cross-country plane tickets.

“They can _just_ take you,” she said and Stiles let out a long breath, bouncing on his feet. “You got in by the skin of your teeth, kid.”

“You’ve saved me a horrifyingly awkward conversation with my dad, and possibly my life.”

She looked at him and shook her head. “Just go.”

Of course, the entire plane stared at him when he came in. As they should, considering they’d probably been ready to leave when he came bouncing in like the massive failure he was.

He peered down at his ticket, avoiding their stares. Of course he had a window seat. He’d hardly thought about _this_ scenario when he checked in online last night. Finding his row, he gave an apologetic smile to the lady at the end who had gotten very comfortable already. She’d wrapped herself in a blanket, opened her book to a dog-eared page and had an iPod in her lap.

“Don’t get up,” he said, not wanting to uproot her entire plane-existence. “I can sneak past.”

There wasn’t much room to sneak past, obviously, which was why most people never tried. He regretted his decision almost immediately, but powered through. It got worse when he had to get past the guy in the middle. Stiles held himself up with a hand to the top of the guy’s seat and looked up to apologize, only to realize he was almost straddling fucking _Derek_.

Stiles stopped, eyes wide. Derek sat completely still, staring at him with his lips parted. Unbidden, Stiles’ eyes slipped to his mouth and _God no_ , not the time.

Flailing until he collapsed into his seat, Stiles bit back the urge to slam his head against the window.

“Derek,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I didn’t see you leave.”

“Apparently I left earlier than you.” Derek lifted an eyebrow at him.

Stiles laughed, but felt no particular humor in it. “Clearly.”

None of them said anything as the plane finally started moving and they left New York behind. Stiles leaned forwards to look out the window, keeping his eyes on the ground as they went up and up.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, finally. “You didn’t say you were going anywhere.”

“You didn’t exactly brief me on your travel plans either.”

“Well. I was otherwise engaged.”

Derek gave him a long-suffering look. “I’ve just got some stuff to take care of back… home.”

“And where’s home?”

“Beacon Hills.”

Stiles couldn’t help it; he laughed. He laughed until he cried, and phantom strings stretched out between them, tangling together into knots.

That was pretty good, eh? But you could always read another:  
Ending 1: [The phone call](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1054776/chapters/2111999)  
Ending 3: [The door opens](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1054776/chapters/2112005)


	4. The Door Opens

The next morning, Stiles had found some Lucky Charms in the cupboard and figured they had to be Scott's. There was no way zero-body-fat Derek was munching on sugary cereal every morning. So he poured himself a bowl while Scott was in the shower and sat at the kitchen table in the chair that afforded a view to Derek's door. 

It stayed shut; Stiles told himself he didn't mind.

He wouldn't ever see Derek again. Scott would be moving out in eleven days and he'd already signed a lease for an apartment with someone in his class. Stiles just had to accept that last night was the perfect one night stand: gorgeous partner, amazing orgasms, zero awkward entanglements. 

It didn't stop Stiles from glaring at the door, wishing it would open anyway. 

He was hunting around his bowl for the last of the marshmallow rainbows when he heard a door crash open. He wondered for a second if he was imagining things -- possibly he'd rubbed a lamp recently -- but when he looked up, it wasn't Derek's door that'd opened. 

Instead, in the threshold of the front door, a woman stood, trying to get her keys out of the lock. With a final pull, they tugged free and she looked up at Stiles. 

"Who are--" Her nose wrinkled, like she smelled something. Maybe the smoke still? But her eyes were on the couch and the balled-up, probably crusty t-shirt Derek had left there. "Never mind." 

Stiles blushed even though it was impossible for her to know from that distance what exactly that t-shirt was covered in.

She looked around, and scowled. "Is he still sleeping?" 

"Um?" Stiles stayed frozen in his seat, full spoon dripping milk onto his pants, not knowing what on earth to say. 

Before Stiles could reply, she was down the hall, pounding on Derek's door. "Get your ass out of bed and start packing."

A second later, Derek's door swung open. His hair was a spiky mess and his eyes were barely open, but his face lit up a bit at the sight of the girl in front of him. "Laura?" He scrubbed at his face like he thought maybe he was still dreaming. "What's going on?"

"Peter's awake."

"Awake?" The look of shock on Derek's face made Stiles think that whoever Peter was, he wasn't just a chronic napper. 

"Awake. And… it's complicated. Get your shit packed. We're booked on the next flight back to Beacon Hills."

The clatter of Stiles' spoon dropping to the floor got both siblings spinning around to stare at him. He cleared his throat trying to look casual as he asked, "Beacon Hills, California?" 

Laura rolled her eyes. "Please tell me you're not planning on taking your boy toy with you. I didn't exactly buy him a ticket."

No strings, he thought to himself and laughed. "No need. I've already got one."

Didn't like that ending? Is there one you haven't read yet?  
Ending 1: [The phone call](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1054776/chapters/2111999)  
Ending 2: [The plane ride](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1054776/chapters/2112004)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! You can find us on tumblr at: [ingberry](http://ingberry.tumblr.com/) and [marguerite26](http://marguerite26.tumblr.com/)


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